


Goldfish

by sc010f



Series: You Can Choose your Friends [2]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Sherlock (TV), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash, Sherlock Series 3 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-07 07:48:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1117347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sc010f/pseuds/sc010f
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q wants to shag Bond. Mycroft wants Sherlock to do a job. Sherlock wants Q to do it. Q doesn't really care what Sherlock wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Goldfish

**Author's Note:**

> Written less than 24 hours aver viewing "The Empty Hearse", this is my humble submission to Sherlock Series 3 fic. Although, it's more 00Q than anything else, please, be aware, this fic assumes knowledge of "The Empty Hearse" and contains dialog directly from it. Chronologically, this story comes before "What You Choose", but in the end, it doesn't really matter, I suppose.

_He wants you to do it. –MH_

_Obviously. He's a lazy arse. You did explain it to him, I trust?_

_Of course. He didn't listen. –MH_

_Still not my problem._

_Join us for tea. –MH_

_No. Busy._

_Join us and I will take Mummy and Father to tea at Fortnum's for you. –MH_

_Fine._

Q scowled at his phone and shoved it into his back pocket. Sherlock was an idiot. 

"Why the long face?" Bond slunk up beside him, in his personal space, too close, God, the man smelled like the GQ magazines that Mycroft used to smuggle into the house. The ones Q found in the attic and spent too much time drooling over as a spotty adolescent. 

Which he definitely was not now.

"Ask the horse," he snapped at Bond. 

"Tetchy, are we?" Bond purred. 

"What do you want, 007?"

"An exploding pen, a competent Quartermaster…"

"You have one of those. In fact, I'm more than competent. As you well know, so you can fu…"

"Let me finish," Bond interrupted. "You young ones, so impatient." He slid around Q, making sure Q got not only a good whiff of eau de whatever it was, but also an almost inappropriate but not quite press of trouser and a breath of warm air on the back of the neck. 

"A competent Quartermaster _for dinner_ ," he finished.

"Ah, resorting to cannibalism now?" Q asked, furiously willing down his erection. There was no way he was going to fall to Bond _this_ easily.  


"Mmm, would you like that? Because I could just eat you up," Bond murmured. 

Q swallowed. 

"Sorry, 007," he said in a voice that only broke a little. "Family's in town."

Bond merely chuckled and pressed Q against the workstation. 

"Another time then," he said. "I have all the time in the world."

Q frowned. _Something_ about that last statement felt off, but with Bond practically mounting him in the workplace, he'd have to save it for later. 

Preferably after he'd shown Bond just who was going to be eating _whom_.

* * *

Q liked Baker Street, admittedly. 

Well, he liked Mrs Hudson. 

He wasn't too fond of the wallpaper, though. 

Or of Sherlock and Mycroft's ego battle over Operation. 

Q had been banned from playing Operation after he rewired the board.

"I don't know why I'm here," he complained, throwing the squash ball against the smiley face. The smiley face, did not reply. "You're not even letting me play."

His brothers paid him no heed.

"Trust me, Mycroft, _I'll_ find the answer," Sherlock was saying.

"Bollocks," coughed Q.

"Lysander, do you _mind_?" Mycroft demanded. "Oh, _bugger_." The board buzzed angrily.

"Can't handle a broken heart? How very telling," Sherlock sneered.

"Don't be smart," said Mycroft distractedly. "God, the two of you…"

"That takes me back. 'Don't be smart, Sherlock. I'm the smart one.'"

"I _am_ the smart one," Mycroft said. 

"You're both idiots," Q chimed in from the desk. "There's something called 'emotional intelligence', you know. Which I have. In spades."

"Bollocks," his brothers chorused.

Q offered them both his middle finger and continued to assault the smiley face.

"…If you seem slow to me, Sherlock, can you imagine what _real_ people are like?"

Oh, God. Q _hated_ Mycroft when he was like this. He threw the ball viciously. 

"…I thought you might have had a… _goldfish_ ," Sherlock purred. 

Q snorted. 

"Change the subject," Mycroft snipped.

"Oh, you _did_!" Sherlock exclaimed. "Who, Lysander?"

"Figure it out yourself," Q said. "I’m not your Wikileaks."

"Lysander!" Mycroft sounded pained. Q smirked. "Lysander, who is taking mummy and father to Fortnums?" Mycroft demanded. "And two can play at that game, what about _your_ goldfish?"

"He's not my goldfish."

"Not yet."

"Is this why you won't do Mycroft's little job?" asked Sherlock. "You're distracted by your goldfish? But you're not because you're not shagging. Yet."

"Oh my God," Q groaned. "You really are an idiot, Sherlock." He ducked as Sherlock aimed a swat at the back of his head. 

"Rest assured, Mycroft, whatever this underground network of yours is up to, the secret will reside in something seemingly meaningless or bizarre."

"Yoo hoo!" twittered Mrs Hudson, entering with the tea things. 

"Speaking of which," Mycroft muttered. Sherlock smirked and Q took the opportunity to peg Mycroft with the squash ball. 

"Oh, now, Lysander!" Mrs Hudson scolded.

Q folded himself into the desk chair and smirked as Mrs Hudson put both his brothers in their place.

As the one in the family with the highest set of social skills, Q appreciated those sorts of moments. Especially when Sherlock and Mycroft walked right into those conversational traps.

* * *

Of course, Sherlock ignored the fact that Mycroft's office and MI-6 were _two different entities_ and texted Q the moment he and John decided to venture into the underground. 

And of course it had to be the evening that Q finally caved and allowed Bond to take him to dinner. 

"Trouble?" asked Bond. "You know, it isn't polite to check your phone while I'm trying to…"

"Seduce me? Yes, I know. Come along, 007, we have to go." Q stood and started to make for the door.

Bond picked up his wine glass and smirked. He didn't rise. 

"Oh, for God's sake, Bond," Q hissed, leaning back over the table. "There's a _bomb_ underneath Parliament and my idiot brother has taken his… his… _goldfish_ down to Sumatra Road station to try to defuse it himself. Now, do you want to come and help me save England, like a good little soldier and then get a leg over or not?"

Bond stared at him.

"You're serious," he said.

"About the the goldfish, the shag or the bomb? All of them."

"Does Mallory know?" he asked.

"He will after the fact. I'm assuming my other idiot brother will take care of that for us."

"How many brothers do you have?" Bond asked.

"Two, now let's go!"

"They're both idiots?"

"To me, yes. But not to you probably. Now do you want to save the world, or at least part if it or not?"

Bond slugged back the rest of his wine.

"Fine," he said, throwing a wad of notes on the table. "Let's go."

"Classy, 007," muttered Q.

* * *

Of course Sherlock had managed to "turn off" the bomb by the time Q and James arrived. 

That was what annoyed Q the most. Oh, that and the fact that the bomb seemed to have been crafted from parts purchased some sort of North Korean hobby store or a former Soviet army/navy surplus and actually had an off switch. He _really_ hated amateurs. 

Amateurs being a category that apparently included his brother.

Sherlock and John were shouting at and giggling with each other and talking about Chinese takeaway and predicting the fortune cookies while Q sent a text to Mycroft and then to _his_ bomb disposal unit. 

"How did you do that?" John demanded, looking away from Sherlock to Q and Bond, crouched over the bomb. "Send a text? I didn't have any service down here."

"Hmm?" asked Q. "Ah. Classified, I'm afraid."

"Oh," John replied. The penny seemed to drop. "Hold on," he said. "Exactly who are you?"

"Oh." Sherlock waved his hand dismissively. "That's my idiot brother, Lysander and his pet goldfish."

Q gave serious consideration to turning the bomb back "on" again. 

"Erm… John Watson," John said, holding out his hand. 

"Yes, I know who you are," Q replied. "And this is not my pet goldfish." He waved an arm in Bond's direction. "That's my… that's…"

"Bond, James Bond." Bond rose smoothly from his crouch opposite Q. 

"John Watson… oh, hello James!" John said. 

"Hello, John."

"You _know_ each other?" Q and Sherlock demanded in unison.

"How do you know Lysander's goldfish? You don't have friends."

"How do you know Sherlock's goldfish? You don't…"

"Oh, no, army of course," Sherlock interrupted. 

"Right," said Q. "Silly of me." Flashlights flickered in the tunnel as the _proper_ bomb squad arrived. "Right." He stood. "That's sorted then. James?"

"Yes, _Lysander_?"

"If you call me that," Q said, stepping towards him, pressing him against the door of the car. He whispered in his ear. "You will _not_ get dessert tonight."

Behind him, Sherlock made a gagging noise. 

Bond smiled and Q, perhaps _just_ to annoy Sherlock, swooped in for a kiss. 

"Come along James," he said against his lips.

"Oh, after you, I think," replied Bond.


End file.
